Christmas greetings, "dear friends and gentle hearts"! (as the new and popular song goes).
What this week's column lacks in volume makes up in Christmas spirit. (I hope.) Surely our Christmas joy or any other joy is enhanced by a prelude of mental anguish and suspense. Eleven days ago a heavy cloud darkened our Christmas - when Sister Margery lost her balance and fell over backward - on her double-jointed left arm, which caved in instead of bending outward, to save her fall. I will spare you the gory details, except to say that the surgeon warned us that, if infection set in, she would surely lose that arm. At the present writing, thank the good Lord, that possibility seems quite remote. And so our spirits are greatly lifted. You would have to know the kinship of spirit between Mother Taylor and Margery to appreciate the tragedy, should anything happen to Margery. They are two genuine Spartans, and Margery has weathered two arm operations with amazing fortitude. Now the sun shines very bright, and the world takes on a roseate hue. Because of our daily jaunts - and sometimes twice-daily (for I am Mother's chauffeur) - to Lakeside Hospital, I have had no time to visit our Veterans' hospitals. But the Red Cross helpers assure me that the wounded veterans are bountifully remembered at Christmas time. Maybe we can do our best giving in midsummer, when the Christmas spirit is at low tide.

When my gentle father passed away twenty years ago, he left a priceless legacy - an unquenchable Christmas spirit - with our three children. The first evidence this year was Virgil Junior's request to bring home with him for the holidays - from Toledo U. - a student from Persia, who will be several thousand miles away from home at Christmas time. To a Christian with our American tradition, absence from home or at least a touch of home life, is quite unthinkable. Parviz Pirooz is a Mohammedan, but he seems quite grateful for home and family life at this time. He and Virgil arrived yesterday. So we have full house for the holidays. John, Dr. Phillips' nephew, is here, of course. Chuck will arrive this evening. I will have six men to cook for. I don't mind telling you that I am in my glory. ***

There has been a procession of visitors through this house - ever since I started this letter. Now I must close, and start the evening meal. But not before I wish you a Merry Christmas, with all the spiritual import that Jesus' birthday brings. If any of you are wishing you had Mother Taylor's (Mrs. Bessie) or Margery Summers' address, it is still 1337 Plainfield Rd., So. Euclid 21, O.

Affectionately yours,
Florence B. Taylor
2907 Hampshire Rd.,
Cleveland Hts. 18, O.

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